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8: DANGER IN THE ASHES

William W. Johnstone

Pinnacle Books Kensington Publishing Corp.

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First Printing: October, 1998 10 987654321

Printed in the United States of America

5 Prologue

As the country began to slowly pull itself out of the greatest economic and social collapse in world history, Ben Raines found himself to be the most hated man in all of America. That really didn't come as any surprise to Ben, for right after the collapse Ben had gathered together a small group called the Rebels-a mixture of political/militia/survivalist oriented men and women- and told them, "We're going to rebuild. Against all odds, we're going to carve out our own nation. And we're going to be hated for our success."

As it turned out, hate was not nearly a strong enough word.

Ben and his Rebels first went to the northwest and settled in what would forever be known as the Tri-States and the Tri-States form of government. The philosophy was based on personal responsibility and common sense. It soon became a hated form of government for those living outside the Tri-States, for liberals and other left-wingers didn't want to be responsible for anything they did, and they didn't appear to possess any common sense.

"Of course, that isn't entirely true," Ben once said in one of his rarely granted interviews with the press. "But that's the way it seems to those of us who believe

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that government should stay out of the lives of its citizens as much as possible."

In the Tri-States, if you got careless and stuck yourself in the face with the business end of a screwdriver, you didn't sue the manufacturer of the screwdriver for damages . . . you learned to be more careful in handling tools.

Common sense.

Ben Raines realized that not everyone could, or would, live under a system of law that leaned heavily on common sense and personal responsibility. From the outset he estimated, correctly as it turned out, that no more than two or three out of every ten Americans could live under a Tri-States form of government. People who came to live in the old Tri-States did not expect something for nothing . . . and that was wise on their part, for they damn sure weren't going to get something for nothing.

In the Tri-States, everybody who was able worked at something. No able-bodied person sat on his ass and expected free handouts from the taxpayers .. . that just wasn't going to happen. You might not like the job that would be found for you-and it would be found very quickly-but you worked it or you got out.

Criminals discovered almost immediately that in the Tri-States they had very few rights. All the rights belonged to the law-abiding citizens. If a criminal got hurt during the commission of a crime, he or she could not sue for damages. If he got killed, his family could not sue for damages. And in the Tri-States, a lot of criminals got killed during the first years. The Tri-States was not a friendly place for criminals . . . and it didn't take them long to discover that. The residents of the Tri-States didn't have a problem with drugs; the penalty for selling hard drugs was death; when caught, after a very

brief trial, the criminals had a choice, hanging or firing squad. Consequently, very soon drug dealing in the Tri-States dropped off to zero.

Life was so good in the Tri-States that the central government, once it got back on its feet after only a few years, couldn't stand it and moved against the Tri-Staters. It was a terrible battle, but in the end the old Tri-States, located in the northwest, was destroyed.

But Ben Raines and his dream lived, and Ben gathered together the survivors of the government assault and declared war on the government... a dirty, nasty, hit and destroy and run type of guerrilla warfare.

Eventually, the entire United States collapsed inward and Ben and his Rebels, now hundreds and hundreds strong, were able to move into the soutih and set up a new government. This time it was called The SUSA: The Southern United States of America.

It was a struggle for a few years, and one time The SUSA was overrun by rabble from outside its borders. But the Rebels beat the attackers back and rebuilt their nation-larger and stronger and more self-sufficient than ever before.

The Rebels were now the largest and most powerful and feared fighting force in the free world, so much so that the Secretary General of the newly reorganized United Nations met with Ben Raines and made a bargain with him: bu deal with a few trouble spots around the world, especially with Bruno Bottger and his band of Nazis, and we'll recognize The SUSA as a free and sovereign nation.

The two men shook hands, sealing the deal, and Ben took his Rebels and sailed off to Africa. . . .

9 One

Ben and his Rebels were ready for the big push southward. The hundreds of replacement troops, all fresh from The SUSA and green as a gourd when they had deplaned weeks back, were now combat tested and hardened. In the weeks they had been in Africa they had seen sights that toughened them mentally; they had learned what every experienced combat soldier learns: you shove the bloody, awful sights into a secret part of your brain and close and lock the door . . . and keep on doing your job.

Ben's 501 Brigade was halted on the Cameroon/Gabon border, just north of Bata. The other brigades were stretched out across Africa, all the way over to Mogadishu, Somalia. They waited for Ben's orders to move out.

Ike McGowen's 502 Brigade was just to Ben's east, on the Congo's west border. Thermopolis's 19 Batt, which kept up with everything going on, and not just concerning the Rebels, was in the center of the ten brigades. Pat O'Shea's 510 Brigade was on the coast of the Indian Ocean, almost twenty-five hundred miles away from Ben. Doctor Lamar Chase, the Rebel Army's Chief of Medicine, was traveling with Ben's brigade. The brigades had traveled several hundred miles since

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re-forming, and so far had seen only limited action, most of it coming from gangs of thugs.

All that was about to change.

For the past week, Ben and the Rebels had made good time, considering the condition of the roads-in some cases, almost non-existence. Ben and his 501 Brigade had traveled south through the western portion of Cameroon and found very little resistance. They had seen thousands of human skeletons, their deaths brought on by war, sickness, starvation, and Bruno Bottger's deadly laboratory-concocted virus that he unleashed on the population.

But the animals had made a miraculous comeback. The Rebels saw dozens of prides of lions. They saw leopards and hyenas and wild dogs, and what appeared to be thousands of different species of birds. Scouts reported all sorts of animals ahead of the main force.

"Gorillas," said Cooper, Ben's driver. "I want to see some gorillas."

"Go look in the mirror," Ben's diminutive bodyguard, Jersey, told him.

Beth, the statistician, looked up from the tattered travel guide she was reading and smiled at Ben, then returned to her reading.

Corrie, the radio tech, was busy yapping with somebody about something, her headset on, and didn't hear the exchange. She probably wouldn't have paid any attention to it, anyway, for Jersey and Cooper had been hurling barbs at one another for years.

Anna, Ben's adopted daughter, squatted in the shade of a large bush, sharpening one of her knives, which was already razor sharp. The young woman, taken in by Ben during the Rebels' European campaign, was in her late teens, and deadly. She had been orphaned while just a child-when the Great War swept the

globe-and had fought for every scrap of food while growing up. Ben had seen something worthwhile in the dirty faced waif, and taken her in to raise during her formative teenage years.

That was Ben's personal team. They had been together for a long time, through good and bad times.

"Bruno's people have pulled back, Boss," Corrie announced, removing her headset. "All the way across Africa. They packed it up and headed south."

"They didn't do it because they're afraid of us," Ben said, rolling a cigarette. He looked at her. "Were they in a hurry when they hightailed it out of here?"

"Didn't seem to be. Scouts report they left nothing useable behind." Corrie paused for a moment. "Just a lot of dead people," she added.

"Is anyone reporting any action at all?" Ben asked. "Anywhere?"

"Nothing, Boss."

"This will slow us down to a crawl," Ben said. "I want every bridge, every mile of road, checked for mines. If the village or town is deserted, it's probably filled with explosives. Do we have anybody left in South Africa . . . or what used to be called South Africa?"

"Not any more," Beth told him. "The last batch of our people that we sent in about eighteen months ago just got out alive a few weeks ago."

Ben nodded in understanding. He lit his hand-rolled cigarette and frowned, silent for a few heartbeats. "Bruno's going to bug out," he finally said. "Bet on it. He's going to buy some time by sacrificing his troops and then bug out through the southernmost ports, taking his top people and his best troops with him. That's the only thing that makes any sense. He knows he's finished here in Africa ... he can see the end in sight.

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He's anything but a stupid man. Arrogant as hell, but brilliant in his own right."

"Where in the hell's he going to bug out to, Boss?" Cooper asked.

"My guess would be South America," Ben replied. "The last word we got was that there wasn't a stable government in any country down there. Corrie, tell Mike Richards to send some people into South America. See what they can dig up."

"Will do."

"No point in pulling out until we've got a few miles of road cleared. Have the Scouts or any fly-bys found any useable railroad tracks?"

"Negative, Boss. Bruno's people destroyed miles of track and blew the railroad bridges."

"We can expect the same all the way down," Ben said. "And for the roads to get worse. We're in for some slow going." Ben opened his map case and pulled out a map of Gabon, studying it for a moment.

"We'll avoid Libreville," he said. "We don't need to use the port, and all we'll find is trouble there. Place is filled to overflowing with sick and dying people." Ben shook his head. "Doctor Chase and his people say there is nothing we can do for them. Nothing at all. Except let them die in peace," he added softly.

"Bruno's virus?" Anna said, standing up and sheathing her long-bladed knife.

"Not so much that," Ben replied. "But that is certainly a part of their trouble. Chase's people say just name a disease, they've got it."

"When are the Israelis going to join us?" Cooper asked.

"They're not," Ben said. "They're fighting on three fronts. We just got word that a dozen or more Arab resistance groups formed up and began attacking. The

Israelis have their hands full. I wished them good luck and told them we'd handle this. Corrie, radio everyone to stand down and relax. We'll make this push south slow and careful."

The Rebels pushed off two days later and advanced thirty miles. Then they waited for two more days before pushing off again, and again they advanced thirty miles. They met no resistance anywhere along the twenty-five hundred mile front, running east to west. Bruno Bott-ger's troops had definitely bugged out to the south . . . how far south was still up for grabs.

"But we've still got hundreds of gangs roaming around," Ben cautioned. "Ranging in size from twenty to a thousand."

"You think a small bunch of punks would attack us?" Ben was asked by a young sergeant. The sergeant was fresh from The SUSA, and his combat experience was sparse. "It would be suicide for a small gang to attack a full brigade."

Ben's XO, John Michaels, opened his mouth to tell the young sergeant to get back to his squad and not to bother the CG with stupid questions.

Ben held up a hand. "I didn't say they were smart gangs, Sergeant," Ben told him. "Although we don't ever want to underestimate their intelligence . . . many of them are very cunning. Just like criminals in every country in the world. If they would use that intelligence for something constructive, they would be useful and productive, helping out their country and the people. But they never do that. They think they're smarter than everyone else. If they hit us, and I think they probably will very soon, they'll come at us with ambushes and sneak attacks, hit and run. So, heads up, son."

"Yes, sir," the young sergeant said, and got the hell out of that area.

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The hundreds and hundreds of men and women in the miles long column mounted up and moved slowly on to the south.

"Boring," Anna said, looking out the window of the big wagon as they proceeded on at about fifteen miles per hour. The roads were in terrible shape. In many areas of the sprawling continent, roads were no more than a faint memory.

"Scouts report the bridge is out about five miles ahead," Corrie said.

Ben lifted a map, studied it for a moment, and then cussed. "There are no highways at all to the west, and it would put us fifty miles out of the way to head east to the next crossing. And on these miserable excuses for roads it would take us two or three days to travel that distance." He sighed. "Get the engineers up here, Corrie."

"Right, Boss. They're on their way."

"It'll take some time, General," the officer in command of the detachment of combat engineers told Ben. "The rest of the day and part of tomorrow, at least. That's a hell of a section blown out."

Ben nodded. "Fix it."

"Yes, sir." The combat engineer started yelling orders to his people.

Ben glanced at his watch. 1300 hours. The column had made lousy time since pulling out that morning. At this rate it would take them several months to reach the south part of the continent. And that would give Bruno more than ample time to throw up a front that would be tough to punch through.

Ben sighed and shook his head as he looked around him. The terrain would be perfect for an ambush. "Corrie, no one moves more than a few yards away from this

cowpath they call a road until the area has been checked out."

"Right, Boss."

"Scouts out east and west."

"Done, Boss."

Ben smiled as he leaned up against the big wagon and began rolling a cigarette. Corrie always stayed about two steps ahead of him. The team had been together for so long that each member knew how the other would react, and in most cases orders were routine, given out of long habit.

"Any towns or villages close by?" Cooper asked.

"Why?" Jersey asked. "You planning on going in and checking out the night life?"

"I thought I might buy you a nice present," Cooper came right back at her.

"The best present you could get me would be to lose your voice for about a year or so."

"Oh, my little desert flower," Cooper said, feigning great personal pain. "You know you don't mean that. Just the thought hurts my heart. You'd miss me like the flowers would miss a gentle rain."

"Blahh! Yukk! Barf!" Jersey said. "That's disgusting, Cooper." She made an awful face and moved around to the other side of the vehicle, muttering, "Guy gets worse every month." But out of Cooper's sight the awful face vanished, and she smiled. She and Cooper were good and close friends . . . they just liked to stick the needle to each other.

The first section of the Bailey Bridge was hauled up and off loaded. The engineers were laying it out when the mortar rounds began falling. Two members of the combat engineers were killed and half a dozen wounded in the first barrage.

Ben and his team left the road and jumped for the

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cover of thick brush that lined both sides of the old highway. "If they hit that new wagon, I'm gonna be really pissed!" Cooper said, setting up his SAW-Squad Automatic Weapon.

"You better hope one of those rounds doesn't land on your ass," Jersey told him.

"That would irritate me, too," Cooper replied.

"But only very briefly," Jersey replied.

The first span over which the engineers had to build a new temporary bridge was about fifty yards wide . . . but it was right in the center. The second section that had been knocked out was on the other side, the connecting span.

"I figure about a hundred meters from our position," Ben said. "Give that to the tank commanders, Corrie."

"Right, Boss."

A minute later the main guns of the battle tanks began howling and roaring. The first few rounds were short, the range quickly corrected, and then the tanks began laying down a field of fire that virtually destroyed everything on the other side of the sluggish river.

"Cease fire," Ben ordered, looking up into the sky. "Here come the gunships."

The gunships began strafing the other side of the riverbank with machine gun fire and rockets. They worked back and forth for a couple of minutes. Ben bumped the flight commander on his two-way and gave orders for them to back off. "Scouts find a place to get across that river and check it out," he said.

"Chopper pilots reporting no signs of life over there," Corrie said. "But plenty of dead bodies."

"Good," Ben said. "Throw them in the river and let the crocs have them."

"Are there crocodiles in that river?" Cooper questioned.

"Probably," Ben told him. Ben didn't know if there were any crocs in the river . . . but he'd bet there were. Either way, the river was certainly going to be ordered off limits for swimming.

About five minutes later, after the firing had stopped and the area was quiet once again, Doctor Lamar Chase, the Rebels' Chief of Medicine, came walking up. His driver had brought him as close to the head of the column as she could, then Chase had hoofed the last several hundred yards. Chase and Ben had been together since the very beginning; their friendship spanned many years. The doctor stood for a moment, watching his doctors work on the wounded, then turned to Ben.

"You think those troops that ambushed us were Bruno's men, Ben?"

Ben shook his head. "No. It would really surprise me if they were. Probably just one of the many hundreds of gangs that prowl and slither around this continent. Scouts are checking it out now."

"I certainly hope you cautioned them not to fall out of the damn boats," Chase warned. "There are probably crocs in that river."

Ben cut his eyes, grunted a non-committal reply, and continued to watch the Scout teams as they cranked the outboards and headed for the opposite shore.

"One of the wounded just died," Corrie said. "The others are going to make it."

"Who died?" Ben asked.

"Major Larsen."

"Shit," Ben muttered. He sighed. "Bury them off the road in the brush. Deep and well. I don't want animals digging them up. Get a chaplain up here."

"OK, Boss."

Major Larsen had been with Ben for years, starting out with the Rebels when he was just an enlisted man

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in his teens and working his way up through the ranks. He was well-liked by everyone, and would be sorely missed.

Chase looked at Ben's face for a moment and said, "Watch your blood pressure, Ben. These things happen."

"My blood pressure is fine, Lamar."

"Then what's wrong?"

"This damn country."

Chase grunted in response, frowning as Ben began rolling a cigarette.

"Of course, wait until we hit South America," Ben said. "Then we'll really get bogged down in certain areas."

"Is that where we go next?"

"Probably. You can bet that's where Bruno's heading ... if he makes it out of Africa alive, and he probably will. The bastard has more luck than a leprechaun. He can't go back to Europe, that's for sure. He's the most wanted man on the continent."

Chase waited for Ben to continue, sensing there was more. He was right.

"The Secretary General warned me that we might go to South America when we finished here." Ben shrugged. "It was all part of the deal we made."

"A deal that isn't worth the paper it's written on or the handshake that sealed it," Doctor Chase said. "You don't believe for a minute the federal government outside The SUSA will keep their end of the bargain. Do you?"

Ben smiled. "Of course not, Lamar. I wouldn't trust a liberal out of my sight. But it bought us some time. Much needed time."

"They don't believe you'll use nuclear and germ weapons against them, Ben."

"Then they don't know or understand me at all, La-mar. I will personally push the buttons that let the birds fly if they invade us. Those crybaby assholes had damn well better understand that. And don't think for a second Cecil won't do it ... because he damn sure will."

Chase studied Ben's face for a few seconds. "Yes. Cecil will push the buttons. I'm sure of that. But do you think The SUSA will be invaded? Do you believe the federal government will really take that chance?"

Ben lit his hand-rolled cigarette and was silent for a few heartbeats, letting a very slight breeze slip the smoke away.

When he spoke, his words were low. "Yes, I do, Lamar. But I'm still undecided as to whether it's going to be an all-out assault or a guerrilla, hit and run attempt."

"What do Mike's people have to say about it?"

Mike Richards was the Rebels' Chief of Intelligence.

"That some type of action against us is being planned, but they're unable, so far, to break into the inner circle and pin anything down."

"Doesn't leave us much to go on, does it?"

Ben smiled. "Not a whole lot, Lamar. Except we know it's coming. But not when or how."

The two men stood in silence as the wounded combat engineers were transported back to a clearing to be worked on in a MASH facility.

One of the medics walked back to Ben and Lamar. "One is going to lose a leg, I think. The others will be back on limited duty before long."

Lamar thanked the medic and the young woman nodded and walked away. No one saluted in a combat zone.

"I am beginning to truly hate this place," Ben said. "I know I shouldn't, but I do. Not the people, at least not most of them, but the place."

"If it'll make you feel any better, Ben, the country

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doesn't thrill me all that much, either, even though much of it is quite beautiful."

"Scouts found several alive over there," Corrie said. "They're bringing three of them across now."

"Do they speak English?" Ben asked.

"Oh, yes, sir," Corrie replied. "They sure do. They're Americans."

21 Two

The three men had suffered only very minor wounds, and those had been attended to. They were all in good physical shape, strong, and certainly appeared very healthy. Ben studied the trio for several moments before speaking. He did not like what he was thinking.

"How'd you boys get to Africa?" Ben finally asked.

"Greyhound," the bigger of the three popped back.

"Oh," Ben said with a smile. "A sense of humor. That's good. You're damn sure going to need one. Now, I'll ask again-how did you boys get over here?"

"Plane," the older of the three volunteered.

"When?" Ben asked.

"Six, seven months ago," the same man replied. "I'm not sure. Time sort of runs together over here."

Ben silently and certainly agreed with the man about that. "Go on."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Who paid you to come over here? How many of you came over? And why?"

"Keep your damn mouth shut, Leon," the first man to speak said.

"Screw you, Jimmy," the younger man said. He looked back at Ben. "Two battalions."

"Mercenaries," Ben said.

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"Yes, sir."

"All Americans?"

"Most of them, yes sir. But other nationalities mixed in there, too. A few Canadians, half a dozen or so Germans and Russians. Some English."

Ben again studied the three for a moment. They were dressed in cammie BDUs. Because of the way they were dressed he couldn't threaten them with punishment as spies, and they probably were well aware of that. "Who's paying you?"

This time, the bigger man spoke. "That we don't know, General. You can believe it or not, but it's the truth."

Ben believed him. But he also had a damn good idea who was paying the men. "More mercenaries coming over?"

"Yes, sir," the third man said. "I can tell you for a fact that recruiting has been going on for a long time."

Ben nodded. "And a long time is ... how long?"

"Over a year, General."

There were a lot more questions Ben wanted to ask, but he would save them and turn the man over to Intelligence for more interrogation. Ben hoped they would be honest, for if his Intel team sensed the men were lying it could get very nasty when they hauled out the drugs. Not painful, not physical torture, but the men would tell the truth . . . bet on that.

"What happens to us now, General?" the youngest of the trio asked.

"You'll be turned over to our Intelligence section for further questioning. I urge you to cooperate with them."

"In other words," the big one said, "here come the needle and the drugs."

"In other words," Ben replied, his smile rather grim, "you're right."

"We're over here fighting for money, General. Not for any political philosophy or cause. They won't need to use drugs on us. We'll tell them what they want to know ... as much as we can. Which isn't much."

Ben believed that. He was reasonably sure the men had been recruited by a third party. That was the way it was usually done. The money men (in this case, he was sure it was the fast-growing and decidedly socialistic government outside The SUSA) staying anonymous in the shadows.

Ben waved for the guards to take the prisoners away, and then shifted the camp chair around and stretched his long legs out in front of him, away from the field desk in his tent.

"Going socialistic again," Ben muttered. "But this time, worse than before."

He poured a fresh hot mug of coffee from the thermos and shook his head and sighed, remembering all too vividly the bad days in America, before the collapse, before the terrible germ war that wiped out every government around the globe, even before the nationwide taxpayer revolt that cost hundreds of Americans their lives as hardworking citizens hard pressed by the government had protested the amount of money extorted from them every year by the government . . . and in many cases, at least in the minds of many, the money carelessly pissed away by the congress.

Ben sat in his tent and sipped his coffee, recalling the smooth and highly effective actions of the insidious gun-grab folks who worked until they finally got their way and all handguns (except those in the hands of selected citizens-the suck-ass types) were seized by fed-

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eral agents and carefully handpicked and trained members of the military.

Ben recalled even before then, when the nation was morally sliding into the gutter.

"Morally we were bankrupt," Ben muttered, after taking another sip of coffee. "Many Americans were happy and content to be playing among the turds and the puke in the sewers."

And Ben knew the nation was definitely morally bankrupt in the years before The Great War and the collapse. There was fildi and perversion every day on the television, and in the movies. The same garbage-and in many cases much worse-could be found in cyberspace, on the information highway called the Internet.

Liberals and many members of the press screamed about freedom of speech and said that to interfere would be a violation of The Bill of Rights.

But Ben had grave doubts about that.

A few years before the entire world fell apart there had been a rash of schoolyard killings: kids killing kids for no apparent reason. The hysterical gun-grabbers had howled that it was the availability of guns that caused the kids to kill. But Ben and millions of others who applied common sense to everyday living knew that was pure horseshit: nothing but mealymouthed, out-of-touch-with-reality liberals making excuses for deviant and otherwise totally unacceptable behavior.

Ben stirred restlessly in his camp chair as old memories came flooding back with startling clarity-vivid images of him, years back, sitting in the den of his home trying to watch television, but instead seething with anger at the TV news commentators and movie and TV personalities (all of them so left-leaning and liberal that it pained them to have to give a right hand turn signal), excusing the behavior of dope dealers, violent crimi-

nals, gang members, and degenerates . . . and especially talking about the Bible being passe.

Ben had listened to those types espouse their views that the Bible didn't really have to be followed . . . not to the letter. If a certain passage of scripture didn't please the reader, well, he could just ignore it and go on to another passage that better suited the reader's life-style.

Ben had always wondered, often as he recalled, what The Almighty thought about that.

Ben was not an overly religious man, but he certainly believed in God, and he did read the Bible: he carried a Bible with him in the wagon and read it often, taking a great deal of comfort in the words.

He recalled a radio interview he'd done with a talk show host one time, just a few months before The Great War and the collapse. The interviewer was one of those who believed that only the police and the military should own guns, and no civilian should be allowed to carry a concealed weapon . . . except for certain select individuals-he would never say who those selected people might be. But Ben knew: people who gave lots of money to the whiny, I-want-to-run-your-life and Give-me-something-for-nothing party. The interviewer placed the blame for many of society's ills solely on guns . . . but never, ever on the people holding the guns.

Ben had finally lost his temper with the left-winger, and the interview turned decidedly nasty. The ratings for that show were the highest ever made.

Ben smiled as he recalled that long ago TV show. That had been a fun interview! He had succeeded in making the left-wing, liberal prick angry, and the man had lost his cool. He had been good at doing that.

Ben's smile faded. Now the city where the station had

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been located no longer existed, except in the ashes of memory. Those wonderful people the interviewer had so staunchly defended had turned the streets into a battleground, as punk gangs fought for control . . . until the Rebels came along and killed them.

Jersey's voice cut into Ben's memories. "Deep in thought, Boss?"

Ben looked up and smiled. "Yes, I was, Jersey. For a fact."

"Pretty good memories?"

"Some of them, yes. Others not so great." Ben sighed and was silent for a couple of heartbeats. "Dwelling in the past is a sure sign I'm getting old, I guess."

"That's bullshit, Boss," she said, sitting down on a trunk as the rest of Ben's team walked into the big squad tent. "We all have memories we unlock and look at from time to time. Nothing wrong with doing that."

"What's bullshit?" Cooper asked.

"The Boss says he's getting old," Jersey told him.

"Naw," Cooper said, as Anna took Ben's cup and refilled it from the coffee thermos. "When you get too old for the field, Boss, we'll tell you."

Ben looked at each member of his team. With the exception of Anna, the others should be married and settled, possibly raising kids of their own, not stomping all over the world laying their lives on the line in places most people never heard of ... or really cared about.

"Actually, I was thinking about how the world got into this mess in the first place," Ben said, thanking Anna for the coffee refill.

"From what I've been able to read and from what I remember," Beth said, "and from what you've told us, America had turned into something pretty close to a cesspool. I can't believe some of the things I read in

the old newspapers. Morals, ethics, honor, faith in God, had all taken a nosedive."

Ben nodded his head in agreement. "That's right. Worse than a nosedive. America was taking a bath in the sewer, and enjoying the filth it wallowed in."

Anna looked up and made a face at just the thought. "That is sickening, General Ben."

"Anybody ever thought that maybe God had a hand in all the destruction?" Cooper asked.

Jersey cut her dark eyes to him. "Yeah, Coop. I have. Many times. I think we all have."

"I sure have," Corrie said. "I think maybe He did it because He was so disgusted. He sure had reason to be all bent out of shape."

"Boss?" Cooper asked, looking at Ben. "You ever think that?"

"Oh, yes, Coop. He certainly may have had a hand in destroying what He created, and forcing us to start all over. He told us it would never again be done by flood."

"But the government outside The SUSA is going right back to the old ways," Beth said. "Does that mean it might happen again?"

Ben waited a moment before replying. When he spoke, his voice was low. "It might, Beth. It just might."

29 Three

Before the team from Intelligence could start their work on the three American mercenaries, the men decided to tell all they knew ... or so they insisted. Intel believed they were holding a lot back, but what they did say was enough for Ben to fit another piece of the puzzle in place. There were still gaps in the overall mystery, but Ben felt he should talk to Cecil Jefferys back in The SUSA and warn him that the government outside their borders was planning some sort of move against The SUSA.

"We're just beginning to get whispers about that, Ben," Ben's longtime friend and President of The SUSA said, "I was going to give you a bump in a few hours. Of course, we both knew it was coming eventually."

"Yes, that we did, Cece. I think it might be best if you had a little chat with somebody in power."

"I'd do just that, Ben. But nobody really knows who makes up the shadow government."

"Everything is really still all that screwed up in the new capitol?"

"That's being kind. To be blunt, it's a royal fuckup. The people we felt we could trust are out of the loop ... or just out, period. And I mean all the way out. There

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have been half a dozen little power plays since you left. Sometimes it's weeks before we learn of the full magnitude. And there's something we learned just hours ago, and it's unbelievable. The announcement just came down the line. The upcoming national elections have been postponed."

"Postponed? For what reason?"

"The bottom line seems to be security concerns."

"Oh . . . that's bullshit!"

"Of course it is. But that's die word-die party line, you might call it-the central government is putting out. And you know who they're blaming. . . ."

"The SUSA."

"Right. Those in power are claiming The SUSA is planning to move against die New Democracy ... as it's being called by the press. Bless their little pointy heads."

"The New Democracy?"

"That's it. Really catchy phrase, isn't it?"

"Sounds like something a bunch of silly ass liberals would dream up."

"You got it."

"Next we'll have a chicken in every pot and a car in every garage."

"I'm sure."

"Where are we heading, Cece?"

"Well . . . the military outside our borders is just not strong enough yet to tangle with us ... but they're slowly building to that strength. Now that die main force of the Rebels is out of the picture-so to speak- thousands of miles away, I think the people-certain types of people, that is, and you know the breed as well as I do-living outside our borders will be used for cannon fodder."

"Those 'give me something for nothing, I want the

government to take care of me cradle to grave, politically correct, I'll sue you for the slightest slur' types will attempt a swarm across our borders, and mercenaries will be right behind them, with the new military backing up the second wave."

"You nailed it right on the head." Cecil laughed. "Of course, I had no doubt that you would. I'll keep you up to date. You take care now, Ben, and I'll see you."

"Do that, partner."

Cecil Jefferys was the first black man elected to such a high office in America . . . and it had taken the separation of the nation and the men and women of the South to accomplish it.

Cecil and Ben had been friends for many years. Cecil had left the grueling life in the field to enter politics after a heart attack nearly killed him during a campaign.

Ben walked outside and stood for a moment. His mind was already busy adding up the troops he could take back to The SUSA when it was time to go ... if the job here wasn't finished. Ben had guesstimated that this campaign might take anywhere from a year to as much as five. Ben now felt he would be leaving Africa with his 501 Brigade and several other brigades as yet unchosen in a matter of weeks, not years.

Might even be days.

He walked back into his tent and opened a map case, spread the map out on a table, and began studying it. He found a port in the country of Congo, just south of where the Rebels were now stalled. The small city had an airport that would be just large enough for the planes coming over from The SUSA to use. He put the map away and stepped outside again, to stand in silence for a moment.

Ben knew the day was coming when he would have

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to leave the field. He also knew that he would know when that time came. There was certainly no way to hold back the clock. He would voluntarily, without being asked, retire as a field commander. Nobody would have to tell him he was through, too old.

"Deep thoughts, General Ben?" Anna asked, suddenly appearing at his side. The young woman could move like a ghost, and kill just as silently and with just about as much emotion.

"Oh, just thinking about when it's time for me to retire, Baby."

"You can bet that won't be anytime soon, Daddy Ben," Anna said.

Ben smiled at that. She had just recently begun calling him Daddy Ben, but only when they were alone. Any other time it was General Ben. "Soon enough, Baby. I'm no spring chicken. . . ." He chuckled. "I'm an old rooster."

"Sure, you are," Anna replied, sarcasm dripping from the words. "Can't hardly get around anymore. I'd better start looking for a cane for you to use."

Ben's team, never too far away, was listening in silence to the exchange between the two, and they began to chuckle.

"Yeah, he's such an old goat, Anna," Jersey called. "I think we ought to get him a wheelchair."

"You're probably right, Jersey."

"Maybe one with a motor on it," Beth suggested.

Ben braced himself and tried to hide his grin. But he just couldn't pull it off. He started smiling. He knew he was in for it now.

"Maybe we should contact the engineers," Corrie suggested. "See if they could come up with a wheelchair with a machine gun mount on it."

"Hey, that would be neat," Cooper said.

Lamar Chase strolled up with his security team, and Ben sighed. Now he really was in for a ribbing. "What's the joke, boys and girls?"

"The old rooster," Anna said, jerking her thumb toward Ben. "Says he's getting old."

"I've been telling him that for years," Chase replied, peering at Ben. "So you finally admitted you're too damn old for the field, hey?"

"I admitted no such thing," Ben quickly said. "But none of us is getting any younger."

"My, what a profound statement," the Chief of Medicine came right back. "I shall have that matted and framed, and carry it with me at all times."

"You, of all people, should not talk about aging, you old goat," Ben told the man. "You're so ancient you remember The Great Depression. My father was just a gleam in his daddy's eyes back then."

The shadows were beginning to gather. Soon it would be dark, and when night falls in Central Africa it does just that ... in a hurry.

Down by the river huge portable floodlights had already been set up so the combat engineers could work through the night laying down the Bailey Bridge.

Ben did not expect another attack by Bruno's people or by any of the many roaming gangs that were terrorizing the land, but he was taking no chances. He had ordered the guard doubled and there were choppers in the sky, the gunships slowly moving in a huge circle.

"What you doing over here, Lamar?" Ben questioned. "Aside from irritating me, that is?"

"You need irritating, Raines. What is the word from back home?"

"How would I know?" Ben asked innocently, with a very sneaky smile.

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"Because I know you've been talking with that other old rooster, Cecil Jefferys, that's how. Now give."

"How do you know that?"

"A little bird landed on my shoulder and told me, Raines. Now what's going on?"

Ben held nothing back from his team, never had, never would. As a matter of fact, Corrie usually knew what was going on before Ben did.

"Things have taken a turn for the worse back in the States, Lamar. As we knew they would."

"That bad, Ben?"

"I think it might be even worse than Cece is telling me."

Lamar nodded, looking up as a very sweaty and very dirty combat engineer came walking up.

Ben turned to face the engineer.

"We've just about got everything wrapped up. We'll be ready to take vehicles across in a few hours, General."

"Good deal. You're in command of this detachment now, Captain. I'll put the paperwork through promoting you to major." Just as soon as one of my team tells me your name, that is, Ben thought. There was a time when he knew the name of every officer in his command. But those days were long ago and far away. Once there were a few hundred men and women in the Rebel army. Now there were thousands.

"Thank you, sir," the engineer said.

"You earned it."

The man walked away and Ben turned to Beth. He opened his mouth to speak, and she said, "Adam Mat-son, Boss."

Ben smiled. "Thank you, Beth. See that the paperwork on his field promotion gets through pronto, will you?"

"Will do, Boss."

"What next, Ben?" Lamar asked.

"We secure a port and an airport. Probably in a few weeks. Then we'll start the drive that will end Bottger's reign of terror once and for all."

"And a new reign of terror, if that's the right word, will be about to erupt in America?"

"I'm not sure if terror is the right word, Lamar. Millions of people want to live under what the leaders outside The SUSA are calling the New Democracy. But the rub comes when other millions say they don't want any part of it, and by God they won't live under it."

"Are you about to give me a lecture, Raines?" Lamar asked, a smile playing on his lips. "If you are, kindly save your breath and my ears."

Ben laughed at the expression on his old friend's face. "I wouldn't dream of doing that, Lamar. What would be the point? You haven't changed your mind about anything in fifty years."

Lamar did his best to work a hurt expression on his face. He couldn't pull it off. "I don't have to stand here and be insulted by you, Raines. I'm leaving. Goodnight."

"Be careful, you old goat," Ben told him.

"Blow it out your ass, Raines," the doctor called over his shoulder.

"That isn't very professional, Lamar. Not coming from a man of your stature and advanced age," Ben called.

The Chief of Medicine flipped him the bird and kept on walking.

Ben's team laughed at the exchange between the two men. They'd seen and heard it all before, dozens of times.

Ben's eyes caught a shadow of movement at a corner

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of a parked vehicle. He blinked a couple of times. Stared at where he was sure he'd seen movement. Nothing. But he was certain he'd seen something out of the ordinary.

A monkey that slipped into camp? That would be about the only thing that could slip through the Rebels on guard. Unless . . . pretty farfetched, he thought, slightly shaking his head, but certainly possible if someone had done some careful planning-and that was something to be considered.

"Gang," Ben said in a low tone. "I think we're about to be hit, and hit hard. Corrie, pass the word to the troops." He deliberately turned his back to the shadows and faced his team. "Do it quietly. No one gets in a hurry."

"OK, Boss," she replied in an even voice. "Will do."

Cooper got up and stretched nonchalantly, scratched himself, then wandered off a few yards to the bed of a truck. Ben knew that was where he kept his SAW and extra 200 round containers of 5.56 ammo.

Beth placed a hand on her CAR and continued sitting on the tailgate of a truck. Jersey was staring into the darkness that had dropped over them as suddenly as death. . . . probably bringing a lot of that with it. Jersey stiffened just a bit, and Ben felt certain she had seen something moving in the darkness.

Anna had not moved from her crouch beside a Hum-Vee. But her CAR was held in a position where she could bring it to ready in an instant.

"Tunnels," Anna whispered just loud enough for Ben and the team members close to hear her. "The bastards used tunnels and holes in the ground. This was carefully planned out by someone with some sense."

"The first ambush failed, so they waited until dark,"

Ben said. "They must have been nearly roasting in those holes and tunnels."

"Too bad they didn't," Corrie remarked. "That would have saved us a lot of trouble."

"I heard that." Cooper spoke from a few yards away. He was standing close to his SAW, ready to grab it and hit the ground when the action started.

Ben shifted positions, walking over to the bed of the truck to stand close to Anna. He had left his CAR in the tent and carried only his holstered 9mm.

"There can't be more than a handful of them," he whispered. "Not unless they've been digging tunnels and holes for days . . . which is certainly possible," he added.

"They must've hidden when our choppers came close, then crawled out of the brush and started digging the instant they left," Beth whispered.

"That has to be what happened," Ben said. "This is going to involve a lot of grenades and very close work on their part. Pass that word, Corrie."

"Right, Boss."

"We're going to take some casualties," Ben said. "It's going to get real nasty in a hurry."

The moments dragged by. Five minutes passed with nothing happening. Ben began to wonder if he had been wrong; had he really seen movement? Was an attack imminent? Or was his imagination running wild?

"Intelligence on the horn, Boss." Corrie's whispering broke the silence. "One of those meres finally broke. The jungle on both sides of the road is filled with hos-tiles. Several companies at least."

"Shit," Ben muttered.

"The camp's as ready as it can be," Corrie added, after a few second pause.

Ben thought about walking over to his tent to retrieve

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his CAR, then rejected that idea. This fight was going to be eyeball to eyeball, and a pistol would be easier to handle. In short, it was going to be a real bloodbath.

"All patrols in?" Ben asked.

"Everybody's in camp," Corrie answered.

"OK. Everyone holds his position. No moving around. If it moves, shoot it."

"Orders given, Boss," Corrie said, ten seconds later.

A few heartbeats later, the huge encampment erupted in gunfire and the screaming of the wounded.

39 Four

Enemy troops began pouring out of the ground on both sides of the camp like ants out of a rotting tree. The darkness was filled with running shapes. Ben did not have to give the order to fire. The Rebels had a horde of screaming enemy troops right on top of them, and literally in their faces. Hundreds of Rebels began firing at very close range, most of them using pistols, one in each hand. Machine guns and grenades were useless to both sides this close.

Ben had dropped down to a kneeling position and was picking his targets; not a difficult task, for the enemy was bunched up all around him.

"They're after The Boss!" Cooper yelled. "Has to be. The attack is too concentrated."

"Get those fuckin' flares up," Ben shouted.

Cooper was right: the main thrust of the attack was at the center of the encampment, where Ben had his CP. Only lighter probes were being conducted north and south of his location.

The night skies suddenly sparked into harsh light as flares were sent up and popped into illumination. Ben lifted his 9mm and shot an enemy soldier in the face. The man was so close Ben could smell the body stink of him.

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He shifted his boots to face another soldier and put three rounds of hollow-points into the man's belly and chest. The soldier screamed and fell against Ben, dead, almost knocking Ben off his boots.

Anna jumped onto the back of an enemy soldier and grabbed the man's hair, jerking his head back. She cut the man's throat with one hard swipe of her knife and rode him down to the ground. Rising to her feet, the young woman drove her knife into the belly of another of Bottger's soldiers and twisted it savagely. The man howled in pain, his scream silenced when Anna kneed him in the balls and ripped her knife from him. The man fell forward on his face, his legs jerking as agony tore through his body just before death claimed him.

Cooper had left his SAW and was taking a deadly toll of the enemy, a 9mm in each hand.

If that one enemy soldier had not gotten careless, Ben thought as he banged away with his pistol, the sneak attack might have turned into a disaster for the Rebels.

Then Ben had no more time for any thoughts other than staying alive. The enemy soldiers came in another rush, and everything was confusion as the Rebels battled hand-to-hand with knives, clubs, entrenching tools, pistols, and their bare hands.

For a few moments, it was a wild, savage, deadly scene in the African night. The enemy troops had, for the most part, ceased their yelling, and the battle was silent except for the grunting of men and women locked in combat and the moaning of the wounded.

The intensity of the battle began to wane as the enemy troops began to realize their sneak attack had failed: many faded back into the jungle's hot, humid density and slipped away. Those who stayed and fought, died.

For those caught up in the deadly brawl, the attack seemed to last for hours ... in reality, it lasted only a few minutes.

"Keep those flares up and going east and west of us," Ben ordered. "I don't think they'll try again, but they might."

"They sure might, General," a medic called, kneeling beside a wounded soldier. "They're popped up on something. Some sort of speed, I think. This man is incoherent, and his vital signs are racing . . . his heartbeat sounds like an M-16 on full auto."

"We've taken casualties," Corrie reported. "Mostly wounded. So far, the death count is low."

"Any other brigade get hit?" Ben asked.

"Negative, Boss. Not so far. I'm still checking on that. But I think we're the only ones."

"They were after you, Ben," Ben's XO, John Michaels, said, walking up. "This was very carefully planned. No advance teams were hit, and they were all over this area. It was well planned, all right."

"We captured lots of their wounded, Boss," Cooper called. "Fifty and counting. What do you want done with the really seriously wounded among them . . . those that the docs are sure aren't going to make it?"

"Give them a shot to ease their suffering and help them along their way in peace. We'll scoop out a hole for them in the morning. Turn the rest over to Intelligence."

Ben turned to his XO. "We'll probably be doing some shifting around very soon, John. I haven't set a date for it yet, but I'm pretty sure I'll be heading back to the States with my brigade."

The XO arched an eyebrow in surprise, but Ben could not see it in the darkness. "Oh?"

"Conditions are getting a little rocky outside The SUSA."

"I knew they weren't good," his XO replied. "Do we fight again over there?"

Ben sighed. "We might, John. We just might have to do that. I hope not, but it's looking as though we'll have to fight for our nation."

"Again."

"es. Again. Those bastards outside The SUSA can't say I didn't warn them."

The brigades mounted up and moved out the next morning, after engineers scooped out a hole for the dead soldiers and dumped them in. A much more dignified service was held for the Rebels' own dead. Intelligence had told Ben, just before the brigade moved out, "White officers commanded the troops that hit us last night. Americans, for the most part. A few Europeans. They're all being readied to ship back to The SUSA . . . including the three we took prisoner yesterday."

"Good, I want to be able to hold them up and point them out to the powers-that-be outside The SUSA. I want to see the expressions on their faces when I do that. . . especially after the prisoners have spilled their guts about who hired them. And they will tell us everything they know," Ben added, a deadly grimness behind the words. "Bet on that."

The miles-long column pulled out, heading south, and hit no more trouble as they crossed the bridge and stretched out. Advance patrols and eyes in the sky reported no signs of the enemy. Fly-bys indicated that the port where Ben was heading appeared useable, and the small city itself looked to be almost deserted.

"I still haven't seen any tigers," Cooper bitched as they rolled along . . . crawled along might have been a better way of putting it, for if the column averaged twenty miles an hour they were doing well.

"For the umpteenth boring time, you halfwit ninny," Jersey told him from the second seat in the big wagon. "You're not going to see any. Lots of lions, no tigers."

"Tarzan fought tigers over here in his movies," Cooper came right back.

"Give it up, Jersey," Corrie told her. "It's hopeless. Hell, Cooper's hopeless."

"I think he needs professional help," Jersey said. "Of course, I've thought that for years."

Beth looked up from her reading of old travel brochures and smiled. "I know we've got a long way to go before we get there, but Point-Noire used to have a population of over half a million, and fly-bys say it's almost deserted. What happened to the people?"

"Bottger probably killed them all," Cooper said.

"Half a million of them?" Jersey questioned. "I don't think so, Cooper." Then she frowned. "Well. . . maybe you're right, as much as I hate to admit it."

"He might have used the gas on them," Ben said. "Or a form of experimental gas while his scientists were working all the bugs out of it-so to speak. We'll know when we get there, I suppose."

"I don't understand why he's killing off all the people," Jersey said.

"Cuts down on the resistance problem, Jersey," Ben told her.

"And damn sure helps to keep the rest of the people in line."

"I can see where that certainly would," Jersey replied.

"Says here that there are over forty ethnic groups, each with their own language," Beth said, reading from

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the travel brochure. She winked at Anna and added, "And Cooper, here's something for you-watch out for the Gaboon viper."

"The what?" Cooper asked.

"It's a snake, Coop. The largest and heaviest viper in all of Africa. Grows to a length of about eight feet, and can weigh up to twenty-five pounds. It's very deadly. Likes to crawl into sleeping bags at night and snuggle up to the sleeper."

"The son of a bitch wouldn't snuggle up to me for very long," Cooper said. "I'd be out of that sleeping bag before it could open its mouth." He shuddered and made a terrible face. Cooper hated snakes of all types, sizes, and descriptions. "Jesus, I don't even like to think about that."

"Relax, Cooper," Beth told him. "This snake is found in central Africa, in the tropical rain forests."

"Of course, Coop," Ben said, "there are all types of poisonous snakes here in Africa. For instance, the one you'd really better look out for is the spitting cobra."

Cooper shook his head and cut his eyes to Ben for a second. "I read all about those nasty things. They spit venom that can blind you."

"Always keep your sun shades on, Cooper," Jersey told him.

"Protect your eyes."

"If I do that, how the hell am I supposed to see at night?"

"Carefully, Coop," Jersey told him with a straight face. "Very carefully."

After a moment, Cooper slowly held up his right hand and gave Jersey the bird.

Beth covered her face with the travel brochure to stifle her giggling as Jersey and the others burst out laughing. The laughter lasted only a few seconds. Corrie

suddenly held up a hand as her headset began crackling with transmissions.

"Scouts report the town just up ahead is populated. Lots of sick and dying. No apparent gunshot wounds. The interpreter is trying to make some sense of it all now."

"How many people?" Ben questioned.

"Several thousand. They're not unruly. Just sitting and waiting to die. The Scouts' words, Boss."

"Are the Scouts in protective gear?"

"Gas masks only."

"Halt the column, Ben," Doctor Chase's voice popped over a speaker. "If the Scouts haven't dropped dead or started showing some signs of sickness in thirty minutes, we'll proceed into the town . . . the advance party of medical people wearing full protective gear."

"You're the boss on this, Lamar," Ben replied. "It's your call from here on in." Ben then gave orders to halt the column.

"Some of Bottger's gas?" Cooper questioned.

"Probably," Ben said. "But it might be starvation or some natural cause. It's all up to Chase's people now. Corrie, tell the troops to unass their vehicles and stretch. Double the guards."

"Now we wait," Anna said.

Ben nodded his head, "Now we wait."

47 Five

Chase's bio/med team entered the town and got their equipment ready. Several of them took the Scouts into their mobile lab to check them out while the others began inspecting the town and the residents, checking the air and the water and the soil.

It did not take the bio/med team long to determine that the air was fine to breathe but the water had more germs in it than a city garbage dump. They were nature's bugs, not man-made. The people were not contagious, and posed no threat to the Rebels.

The bio/med team gave the column the OK to enter the town.

"Bottger's gas cause this?" Ben asked, stepping out of his vehicle and looking around.

"We're running analysis now, General. But if I had to make a guess I'd say yes."

"What has the interpreter been able to find out?"

"Just that one day everybody felt fine, and the next people were getting sick and dying all around them. Whatever it was, it touched everyone with violent nausea, uncontrollable diarrhea, and high fever . . . breathing became very difficult and then death came to most. Those who survived are very weak, but we think they're going to make it."

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"Bottger's crap," Ben said.

"Probably."

"What can you do for the people?"

"Well, actually very little, sir. Give those who are dying a shot to ease them on their way out. That's about it."

"Do it," Doctor Chase said, walking up and catching the last part of the report.

"Yes, sir."

Chase turned to face Ben, then grimaced and said, "Why should I tell you, Raines? You'd just turn around and tell Corrie. I might as well start giving all orders to her from the outset. Besides, she's a lot easier on the eyes than you are." He turned to face Corrie. "You know the drill, dear-no drinking of the water, no petting of animals, no fraternization with the locals. See that those orders are passed up and down the line promptly, please."

"Certainly, sir."

Chase smiled. "It's so nice to see that someone in this team knows something about military courtesy." He turned and strolled off before Ben could retort, chuckling as he walked.

"Somebody must have put thumbtacks in the old goat's oatmeal this morning," Ben said. "Feisty old bastard."

Lamar Chase was definitely too old for the field . . . Ben knew it, and Lamar knew it. But he was in excellent health and showed no signs of slowing down. As long as he could keep up, he would stay in the field. Like Ben, when it came time for him to leave the grinding world of combat campaigns, he would know, and would do so voluntarily. He would not have to be told. Both Ben and Chase knew that day was coming for them, but neither of them liked to dwell much on it.

"Let's see what we've got in this town," Ben said. "As if we didn't know," he added.

Death, suffering and hopelessness, Beth wrote in her journal as the team walked along. And: Nearly all of Africa is the same. No matter where we go we see the same thing. Bruno Bottger is not responsible for everything that has happened to these poor people, but he is certainly to blame for most of it. He is an evil, immoral man, probably insane, who must be destroyed . . . no matter the cost.

She carefully noted the name of the town, dated the page, then closed the journal and tucked it away in her rucksack and buckled the flap.

Ben was also keeping a journal, and it was surprisingly very similar in content to the one Beth was keeping.

The other members of the team felt the same way as Beth and Ben about Bottger, as did the entire Rebel army. They had all been pursuing the rotten bastard for too long-over thousands of miles and two continents.

It was time to bring it to an end.

"Gas masks on," Ben ordered. "The smell is going to be tough."

That order did not have to be repeated, for the odor was very foul.

"Corrie," Ben said after only a few minutes of walking through the human suffering, "get the engineers up here with their equipment. We have to get these bodies in the ground. Many of the dead are rotting. We've got to get these dead buried, and do it damn quick."

No matter where the Rebels looked there were rotting, maggot-covered bodies. It wasn't a matter of the living not caring: the survivors were just too weak to bury their dead. They just did not have the strength.

Wild dogs and hyenas had made their way into the town to join the birds of prey in dining on what ap-

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peared to be hundreds of bodies. There was plenty of dead and rotting flesh to satisfy even the most indiscriminate of appetites, and hyenas and vultures were neither picky nor dainty eaters.

The birds of prey did not seem to mind the Rebels walking among them as they ripped and tore off strips and hunks of flesh. The hyenas were another story: the savage animals with their bone-crunching jaws presented a clear menace.

"Try to chase them off," Ben ordered. "They're only doing what they were put on earth to do, as disgusting as it is. If they won't back off, shoot them."

After a dozen of the hyenas were shot, the rest began backing away, reluctantly, from the dead, long enough for the Rebels to toss the bodies into the beds of trucks. If the bodies didn't fall apart when they were picked up. Then it got really interesting for the Rebels-interesting being a totally inadequate word.

"Jesus Christ, Ben," the XO, John Michaels, said after a few moments. "We came over here to fight, not to be subjected to this."

"I know, John. I know. I'm not real thrilled about it either, I assure you."

"Then why are we doing it, Ben? We sure as hell don't have to."

"Because there is no one else to do it, John. If there were no living watching us-many of them relatives of the dead, I'm sure-I'd have the bodies scraped up into a pile and use the town for a funeral pyre."

The XO shook his mask-covered head. "Sorry, Ben. I'm just blowing off steam."

"I know you are, John. And I understand your frustration. I feel the same way. Believe me, I do."

"What a fucking, thankless, miserable job for these

young men and women," John replied, his eyes on the Rebels struggling with the rotting bodies.

"It wasn't all that thrilling an experience for the dead, either, John. Especially when you take into account they didn't know why it was happening to them ... or even what was happening to them. But as long as my Rebels are handling the dead, their officers are going to stay with them and witness all the horror of it. I want us all to understand what manner of men we're fighting."

"I believe they will all know that, Ben, to the fullest extent."

"So they shall, John. I want them to know the stink and the rot and the total evil of Bottger and his dream, so when they move against that son of a bitch and his men there will be damn little pity or compassion shown."

"I think we can both be sure of that, Ben." John looked into Ben's eyes and shuddered inwardly. He felt as though he were gazing through the fiery, smoky gates and into Hell itself.

This last leg of the campaign is going to be a brutal, bloody bastard, the XO thought. There won't be a survivor left from, the other side-not unless they give it up right now and beg for mercy. John had been with Ben for a long time, and he had witnessed firsthand how lowdown, mad dog mean Ben could be when he got pissed-and right now he was plenty pissed.

53 Six

After the last of the bodies had been buried, and the few remaining survivors cared for as well as could be, Ben ordered his force out of the small town and southward once again.

Ben was somewhat apprehensive about traveling in Gabon. Most of the country was densely forested, and teeming with all manner of wildlife. However, Ben's main concern was the roads, which were continually muddy and in poor repair throughout the interior.

The natives were another concern, as the initial settlers of Gabon-the Pygmies-were still present and reported to be very savage, with no love for any of the white race.

A later group to arrive, the Bantu Fang, were also reported to be hostile to whites, and legend had it that some still practiced the ancient art of cannibalism.

Due to reported heavy concentration of natives friendly to Bottger, Ben and his column bypassed Libreville and went inland a bit as they crossed the low-lying mountains toward the Gabon-Congo border.

The farther south Ben traveled the more sour his mood became. Gone was his former jocularity. He was grimmer, more determined than ever to catch the evil Nazi after seeing what he had done to the people of

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the town. In all Ben's years of fighting against some of the worst trash on the planet, he had never seen anything like what he had witnessed the last few weeks.

John Michaels had picked up on his new mood earlier, and now his personal team began to notice the change in him. As their wagon moved down the rutted and partially destroyed road, Cooper glanced sideways at Ben, then into the rear view mirror to catch Jersey's eye.

Jersey always rode directly behind Ben. As she looked at him in the mirror, Cooper inclined his head in Ben's direction and gave a tiny shrug. She stared at the back of Ben's head for a moment, then leaned forward, putting her arms on the back of the seat and resting her chin on her arms.

"Boss?"

Ben glanced at her, then back up the road. "Yes, Jersey?"

"You were saying the other day you thought Bottger was going to bug out to South America."

"Yeah."

"If he's going to leave, what's he waiting for? He's obviously planted plenty of gangs in our path to the south, and he's brought in meres from all over the world to harass and plague us, so why doesn't he just jump a plane and take off?"

Ben didn't answer at first. He made himself a cigarette and lighted it, thinking about her question. After a few moments, he said, "I don't really know, Jersey. Obviously that would be the smart thing to do, and Bottger, as evil as he is, is certainly very intelligent."

Cooper looked at Ben. "You think maybe he's already flown the coop, Boss?"

Ben shook his head. "I don't think so, Coop. I have this gut feeling he's still in the background, somewhere

up ahead of us-like a spider at the center of its web, pulling on the strands to trap its victims-waiting to see how his plans play out."

Ben took a final puff of his cigarette and snubbed it out. "I believe Bottger is vain enough and megaloma-niacal enough to want to be here to see us destroyed ... crushed under the weight of his thousands of gangs and meres. I think he'll wait until the last minute to leave, until he's absolutely convinced he has no chance of winning this little war, before he hightails it out of Africa."

Anna joined in the conversation. "General Ben, if Bottger is as smart as you say, why would he continue to hold to an obsolete doctrine like that of the Nazis?"

Ben smiled ruefully. Anna had grown up in Europe, decades after the Nazis had been defeated in the second World War. The only knowledge she had of Hitler's failed Third Reich was what she had read in old textbooks, written by liberals who gave scant credit for the benefits of early Nazi rule.

"Anna, don't believe all that trash you read in those old books. The Nazi form of government is incredibly efficient, as are all dictatorships. When Hitler first came to power in the old Germany the country was in ruins, physically and economically. His first project, after consolidating his power politically and rendering his political enemies impotent, was to have the state take over all business and industry. After he got those back on their feet, using slave labor, he undertook to shore up the old German money, which had become so inflated it took a wheelbarrow full to buy a loaf of bread, when bread was available, which wasn't too often."

Anna's forehead wrinkled. "Then you're saying the Nazi form of government is good?"

Ben turned in his seat to look at his adopted daugh-

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ter. "No, Baby. What I'm saying is that a dictatorship, with everything under the control of the central government, is very efficient. Things work, products are produced, and the monetary system is stable. But other, more important things are lost, like personal freedom and individual rights. If the dictator is personable and charismatic, like Hider was at first, the people hardly notice the erosion of their rights . . . especially if another group is made to take most of the abuse like the Jews were in Germany."

"But, from what I've read Hitler was a crazy man."

Ben nodded. "Crazy like a fox, dear. At first, his ideas took Germany from being a third rate country to being the most powerful in the world. He took a tiny country, about the size of New England in the old United States, and positioned it to take over almost half the world, and he did all this in a matter of six or eight years. If his mental illness and almost total obsession with eradicating the Jews hadn't crippled his decision-making power, he might very well have pulled it all off."

Anna shook her head. "From what you say, General Ben, the Nazi form of government sounds a whole lot like socialism, or communism."

Ben smiled. "I'm proud of you, Anna. You cut right through the bullshit in all that liberal propaganda in those old textbooks to see the truth. The only real difference in socialism and Naziism is that the communists profess they are doing it for your own good when they take away your rights and force you to work for the state. The Nazis were more truthful, and said they were doing it for the good of the state." He shrugged. "The end result was the same ... no individual rights or freedoms were allowed."

Beth chimed in. "So you think Bottger is in this for personal power?"

Ben frowned. "I don't know, Beth. It could be the man sincerely believes the best way out of this mess the world has gotten itself into lies in the Nazi form of government. I don't want to make the same mistake the liberals do, of branding everyone who doesn't think like

1 do a charlatan. Bottger may believe his way is the best, and I'm perfectly willing to let him do whatever his country wants him to do. The problem is, he's trying to force his way on the rest of the world, and that I will not allow, at least not without a fight."

As their wagon bounced and rocked over the rutted road, weaving to miss the larger chunks of broken concrete and felled trees, the radio under the dash squawked.

Ben grabbed it and clicked the send button. "Raines here."

A familiar voice came out of the speaker. "Ben, it's Ike McGowen."

Ike McGowen, ex-SEAL and leader of Batt 2, Ben's second in command and best friend, was leading Batt

2 on Ben's left flank, and was traversing south through the Congo.

"Go ahead, Ike."

"These roads over here on your eastern flank are giving the armor fits. The battle tanks and half-tracks are having a rough go of it. If it's not the jungle, it's rivers and plains. They're lagging behind the column a good distance."

Ben glanced out the window at the torn and battered countryside. "Yeah, Ike, and from over here on the west coastal areas of the country, it doesn't look like it's going to get better any time soon."

"Do you want us to hold up the troops and wait for the armored units to catch up?"

Ben stared out the window for a moment before an-

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swering. He knew it wasn't safe to put his troops in jeopardy without armored support, but if he slowed the advance any more it would take them too long to get to the southern coast of Africa and finally engage Bottger's force. Every day that they delayed Bottger was getting stronger, with more reinforcements coming in from his friends in the old US.

"No, Ike. Keep 'em moving. But pass the word to the troops to keep their eyes and ears open for ambushes. We'll just have to use the Apache gunships and PUFFs to make sure we don't run into any surprises. We need to keep the heat on Bottger's army as much as we can, partner. Otherwise, I wouldn't want you to risk it."

"We'll turn up the heat and ratchet it down tight, General, you can count on that. Ten-four, McGowen out."

"I always know I can count on your guys and gals, Ike. Raines out."

Cooper cast a worried glance at Ben. "Boss, our armor isn't keeping up, either, and we're hanging our butts out a mile here without it. What happens if we run into a superior force?"

Ben smiled grimly. "Then we'll kick the hell out of it the old-fashioned way, man-to-man combat."

His eyes lit up as he spoke, for in spite of all the high-tech weaponry he commanded Ben Raines was first and foremost a combat infantryman at heart. He felt that the current war would be won by the fighting force that had the most heart, the stronger will to win not by who had the most deadly weapons.

Ben's 501 Brigade made as much distance as they could southward through Gabon, encountering scattered resistance and a few short-lived firefights from roving gangs, but nothing of any note for almost a week.

They crossed into the Congo and traveled a few miles

inland from the Atlantic Ocean until they were almost at the southernmost city in the Congo.

As their wagon crested a small hill Cooper called out, "Town ahead, Boss."

Beth held up her travel brochure. "I think that's Pointe-Noire," she said. "Just past that lies Angola, and part of Zaire."

"And the fly-bys report Pointe-Noire is deserted?" Ben asked.

"Yes, sir," Jersey said from the back seat.

Ben double-clicked the mike. "Raines calling Michaels."

John Michaels, Ben's XO, answered immediately. "Michaels here."

"John, we're approaching Pointe-Noire. It's about two klicks ahead. Fly-bys say it's deserted, but I want the troops ready for anything. I don't want to be surprised by an ambush, especially since we can't count on our tanks to bail us out. Pass the word for the column to spread out laterally, going into the jungle on the inland side and along the beaches on the seaward side, to approach the town from both sides. My squad will take the middle and go in straight down the main street."

"Will do, Boss. Be careful."

"Watch your own ass, John."

"Will do, Ben."

Ben hooked the mic, then glanced right and left. The jungle, never far away, seemed to narrow down on their left as they approached Pointe-Noire. On their right was the ocean. The effect was almost as if they were entering a tunnel.

"Like rats in a maze, only one way to go," Ben muttered to himself.

"What's that, Boss?" Cooper asked.

"Nothing, Coop, just thinking out loud." He waved

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a hand back and forth. "See the way the natural terrain funnels us into the main part of town? It'd be a great place for an ambush, especially if the troops had time to really dig in and prepare for our coming."

Jersey leaned forward to look at the speedometer. It read fifteen miles per hour. "As slow as we've been going, they would have had plenty of time to get ready for us."

Cooper turned a pained expression on her. "Hey, backseat driver, if you think you can go any faster on these roads and still have kidneys left to pee with, be my guest."

Ben smiled. "Okay, children, enough bickering." He took his M-14 Thunder Lizard from the clamps on the dash. "Get ready, gang. I have a feeling the dance is about to begin."

Jersey smiled. "I can't wait to hear the music, Boss."

"Ready, Boss," Cooper said.

"Let's do it, Coop."

The column entered the outskirts of Pointe-Noire.

61 Seven

As Cooper slowly drove the nine passenger wagon down the main street, Ben glanced over his shoulder at Corrie. "Corrie, keep in constant touch with the other squads, and have them stand by their radios. At the first sign of trouble, I want everyone else notified immediately."

"Yes, sir. You really think this is a trap, don't you, Boss?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Why, General Ben?" Anna said. "I don't see any evidence of gangs or punks hanging around. The place looks totally deserted."

Ben smiled. "Call it a gut feeling, Anna. I'm like an old firedog who can sense there's a fire before he can smell die smoke."

He turned in his seat to look at Beth.

"Bedi, get out your guide book and tell me about Pointe-Noire. What can we expect to find?"

She thumbed through the pages of her old copy of a Central Africa guide book. After a moment, she started to read.

"The city started out as a center for the petroleum industry." She stopped reading and looked up. "Hey, Boss, that may be why Bottger was so interested in this

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town. Plenty of gasoline and diesel fuel for his tanks and aircraft."

Ben nodded. "You're probably right, Beth. Go on."

She continued. "The city is divided between the modern section near the water and the African section to the east, called the Cite, with the airport area to the south. Avenue de Gaulle is the main drag in the modern section, stretching for three kilometers eastward from the railway station through the center of town. The main attraction for tourists is the beautiful beach, which is only a fifteen minute walk from the Avenue de Gaulle. The lagoons around the coast abound in swordfish, barracuda, tarpon, tuna, and skate."

Ben turned back around and cradled his M14. "Well, I doubt we'll have time to enjoy the fishing."

As in almost all coastal towns in that part of the Dark Continent, the outer buildings were small, one or two story shacks, some made of corrugated tin roofs with driftwood serving as walls. The floors were for the most part dirt, and there were few sanitary facilities, with rancid ditches serving as communal latrines.

"God, how did the people stand living here?" Jersey asked, with a grimace. "Reminds me of parts of the reservation."

Cooper grunted. "Probably didn't have a hell of a lot of choice in the matter."

Ben nodded. "Like most cities in the so-called third world, there wasn't much of a middle-class. The residents here were either desperately poor, to the point of daily starvation, or fabulously wealthy."

He pointed several blocks ahead, to where multi-story condominiums and office buildings could be seen shimmering in the heat haze of the noonday sun, overlooking the beach much as the high rent district of Miami Beach did in the states.

"The have-nots lived like this, while the haves lived in opulence in those dwellings up ahead."

"No wonder so much of the third world chose to support communism."

"It is easy to see why," Ben said. "Kind'a like how the slaves in America in the eighteen hundreds turned so solidly to religion. Promise the poor folk a greater reward on down the line, and they'll put up with almost anything in the here and now."

"eah, like the soldiers told my ancestors, 'Move on over to those nice reservations and everything will be just grand'," Jersey said.

"The difference is, your ancestors fought a war and lost. These people never had a chance to fight for their rights," said Beth.

"That's where you're wrong, Beth. People never have to take what's offered to them. They always have the option to leave the system if it doesn't work for them, or to fight for what they think they deserve," Ben said.

"Like the way we've set up The SUSA," Corrie added.

"Right," Ben said, nodding. "If you want freedom it's there for the taking, but no one is going to give it to you free. You have to work to support it, and sometimes you have to fight to preserve it. As a famous science fiction writer once said, Tanstaafl."

Anna raised her eyebrows. "Tanstaafl? What is that?"

"There ain't no such thing as a free lunch," Ben said, smiling. "It always has a price, and if you're not willing to pay that price, then you don't deserve the freedom."

The group was silent for a few moments as the wagon cleared the first collection of hovels and shacks and began to make its way into nicer neighborhoods, where the houses on the sides of the street were larger and more lavish. There was still no sign of habitation.

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"Hold it, Coop," Ben said, putting his hand on the driver's arm.

Cooper stiffened and slowed the big wagon to a crawl. "What is it, Boss? You see something?"

"No. It's what I don't see that's bothering me. Quick, Corrie, radio the others that this is definitely a trap, and to proceed with utmost caution."

Corrie didn't bother to reply to Ben as she grabbed her shortwave and began to repeat his message to the other units in his brigade.

"Come on, Boss." Jersey said. "What gives? What are you basing that on?"

"Look around you, gang. What has been present in every town we've been through?"

After a moment, Cooper snapped his Fingers. "Bodies! There aren't any dead bodies lying around."

"Right," Ben said. "No one can tell me half a million people were either killed or forced to leave suddenly, and someone took the time to bury all the corpses. No. Someone has cleaned up the area so we wouldn't be suspicious, so we'd walk right into their trap."

Jersey said, "Hold on tight, people. I just saw a flash in the window of that house on our left. Looked like either a telescopic sight or binoculars reflecting the sun."

"Okay, team, activate your combat mikes and put on your helmets. It's time to go to work," Ben said.

Combat mikes were small, two-way radios that consisted of an earpiece and small speaking tube that curved around just in front of the mouth. They enabled the team members to keep in contact and coordinate their attack. The helmets were bulletproof kevlar that would stop all but very large caliber rounds.

Ben readied his Thunder Lizard. "Coop, when I give

the word, cut the wheel toward that house and let's take out the garbage . . . Now!"

Cooper spun the wheel to the left and gunned the big engine. The wagon lurched forward as if it had been kicked in the butt and raced across a lawn toward a large, two story, Mediterranean-style house.

After a few seconds flashes began to appear in the windows, and a stream of bullets crashed into the wagon, pinging off the armor-plated metal and making dull thumps off die bulletproof glass.

When the wagon slowed as its huge tires spun on the grass of the lawn, Ben jerked his door open and dived out of the vehicle, to land rolling on the ground. As soon as the wagon passed he jumped for cover behind a large palm tree in the center of the yard.

He popped the safety on his M-14, elevated the muzzle to point at the roof, and pulled the trigger. The rifle slammed back into his shoulder and chattered and roared. Bullets raked the roof with murderous fire, causing two men to scream and tumble to the ground to land spread-eagled on the lush, green lawn below.

The wagon made a full turn and, with engine still racing, crashed up onto the porch of the house. Ben's team members jumped from the vehicle and in perfect coordination spread out to assault the house.

Corrie and Beth crouched low and ran around the porch to the left, ducking under windows as they ran, popping keys off frag grenades and throwing them into the windows as they passed.

Jersey and Anna did the same thing, running to the right.

Cooper stood in the middle, in front of the huge, main double doors of the house. He watched as the team all threw their grenades into the windows, counted to three, and then he cut loose with his SAW.

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Within seconds the doors to the house were blown to splinters. Cooper stepped to the side, his back against the front wall just as four frag grenades exploded almost in unison.

Red hot shrapnel whisded as it spread throughout the first floor rooms of die house, making men scream in terror and then groan in pain as their bodies were shredded where they stood.

When Ben saw the front door crumble under the assault from Coop's SAW, he yelled into his mike, "Into the house, now!"

He scrambled to his feet and sprinted toward the house in a low crouch.

The barrel of a rifle came out of an upstairs window and opened fire on him, stitching holes in the lawn as the bullets made a path directly at Ben's running form.

A shell slammed into die right side of Ben's helmet, the hammer blow kicking his head to the side and knocking him to the ground, semiconscious.

As the team streamed through the front door Anna looked back over her shoulder and saw Ben sprawled on the ground.

"Daddy Ben!" she screamed as she ran to squat next to him. Widi one hand she aimed her CAR at the window and sprayed it with fire while she grabbed his collar with the other and dragged Ben to the relative safety of the front porch.

While Corrie and Beth cleared out the downstairs rooms, advancing through thick smoke and smoldering flames from the grenades, Jersey and Cooper ran up the stairs side by side, their weapons jerking and bucking as they fired ahead of them.

At the head of the stairs Jersey pointed Cooper to the right, and she turned to the left. At the first doorway

she paused to shuck an empty magazine onto the floor and then slammed another into her CAR.

Without exposing herself she stuck the barrel into the doorway and sprayed the inside of the room, eliciting two quick screams followed by thumps as bodies hit the floor.

Cooper dropped his SAW to the ground when it clicked on an empty chamber, and pulled two 9mm automatic pistols from holsters on both hips.

He dived through the door, hitting the ground in a roll and coming up firing with both hands.

Automatic rifle fire buzzed over his head, stitching holes in the wall behind him as he shot two gunmen in the chest at point blank range, the bullets punching small holes in the front of the men's shirts and blowing out larger holes in their backs as the slugs exited. One of the men was blown backward through the window behind him, to fall screaming out of sight. The other was thrown back against a wall, where he slipped to the floor, leaving a blood trail down the expensive wallpaper.

Within minutes it was over, and the first building was cleared of hostile forces. There were ten men dead, and two wounded severely but able to talk.

The team assembled on the first floor, where Anna was standing next to a couch where she had laid Ben. Her back was to him, and she stood with CAR at port arms, ready to kill to protect him should anyone survive the assault and come her way.

Upstairs, Jersey spoke into her mike. "Jersey clear."

Cooper, as he popped a fresh magazine into his 9mm, said, "Cooper clear."

Beth and Corrie also checked in with their own 'clear' messages.

Anna looked over her shoulder at Ben, who was shak-

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ing his head and trying to sit up on the couch. "Anna clear, but Ben's hit."

The team rapidly assembled in the living room, the two prisoners made to lie face down in a corner with Cooper standing over them, nervously looking over at Ben to see how serious his wounds were.

A large bruise was beginning to form on his right temple area, and a small trickle of blood ran down his cheek where the edge of the helmet had made a gouge.

He looked around at his friends. "Good work, team."

Jersey placed a hand on his swollen face. "You okay, Boss?"

Ben smiled. "Yeah, but I must be getting old and slow to get clipped like that."

Beth shook her head. "Sure, Boss. In the old days you could've outrun that bullet."

"Good thing it hit you in the head, General Ben," Anna said in a low voice, her lips curved in a slight grin. "The hardest part of your body."

Ben stood up, swayed a moment, and had to grab the arm of the couch to steady himself. Then he said, "Cor-rie, get on the horn and tell the other squads what happened."

He turned to Cooper, "Coop, bring those two over here and we'll have a quick field interrogation."

While Corrie was in the wagon, talking to the other squads, Ben faced their prisoners. They were both black men with ritual scars on their faces, indicating membership in some local tribe.

"You men understand English?" Ben asked.

The prisoners glanced at each other and then back at Ben and shook their heads, eyes downcast as they stared at the floor with defiant expressions.

Ben looked at Cooper and winked so that the men

couldn't see him. "OK, Cooper. They can't tell us anything. Shoot them."

The men jerked their heads up, terror now on their faces. "No ... no ... we'll talk," one said with the singsong accent of a Bantu who has been taught English by missionaries as a child.

Ben paced in front of the prisoners, who were sitting on the couch surrounded by his team, weapons at the ready. "What is going on here in Pointe-Noire? Where are all the citizens, and who are the forces opposing us?"

The older of the two began to speak. "When General Bottger's troops occupied the city, maybe three months ago, those who resisted were killed."

He paused, eyes searching Ben's team's faces to see their reactions. When he got no response, he continued. "Most of the others ran away during the night, back into the jungle. Soon, all that were left were sympathizers, whores, and soldiers. General Bottger told us you would be coming. He offered much money to those that would stay and fight when you came."

The man shrugged. "What were we to do? The alternatives were to be killed by him or to go into the jungle to die of swamp fever or be killed by animals or other tribes. We had no real choice."

"How many men are we facing?"

The second man said, "There are four, maybe five thousand men in the city. Almost all of the buildings are occupied, and the others are . . . how you say . . . booby trapped."

"Are the men professional soldiers, or mainly citizens, like yourselves?"

"There are a few soldiers, but most are men like us, who were forced to fight."

Ben grunted. He didn't for a minute believe these

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men were forced to fight. He figured they were men who took the easy way out, cooperating with Bottger because it gave them power over their fellow citizens of Pointe-Noire. Most were probably lowlife punks who were criminals and gang members before Bottger arrived, and probably a significant number had been prisoners in jails who took his offer to fight for money.

Ben turned away, "Coop, do what you can to dress their wounds and stop the bleeding. Then we'll assemble the team and discuss our options."

After the prisoners were tended to, Ben addressed the rest of his group. "Corrie, get on the horn and call the other units. We'll call in the PUFFs and P51Es to attack the city, bombs followed by strafing runs. Then we'll have the gunships come in and do low-level strafing of what's left of the buildings. I want the city leveled."

"What about the non-combatant civilians?" Beth asked.

Ben's eyes were hard. "There are no non-combatants left here. Anyone who stayed has chosen sides . . . the wrong side, as they're soon going to find out. Tell the squads to stay out of the city for now, and to pop green smoke grenades so the bombers will know they're friendlies, and to avoid them."

"And after that?" Cooper asked.

Ben gave a fierce grin. "Then we go door-to-door and house-to-house and finish the job!"

Ben and his team popped a green smoke grenade in the front yard of the house they had just raided, then gathered on the roof to watch the show.

Four PUFFs, twin engine assault planes known officially as AC47s, each with 20mm Vulcan cannons, 6 barrel Gatling guns, and four pairs of 7.62s, roared in low over the city from different points of the compass.

Small arms fire began to appear in windows of buildings and houses, some of the tracer rounds making orange trails in the late afternoon light, arching toward the PUFFs as they dove at several hundred miles an hour. Their engines screamed but couldn't drown out the ratcheting chatter of the Vulcan 20mm cannons as they rained destruction among the structures of the city.

Walls, windows, then entire buildings seemed to almost disintegrate under the murderous fire from the aircraft before they pulled up in unison, barrel-rolling to dive again and again on the dying city.

Soon hundreds of figures could be seen running for their lives from houses and skyscrapers, trying to escape the thousands of rounds of molten lead bringing death and destruction their way. Some of the men stopped in the middle of streets, aiming their pitiful rifles at the

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birds from hell, to die torn asunder by the rounds from the PUFFs' cannons.

After several strafing runs the planes' cannons were empty, but they continued to dive, spraying the buildings that remained partially intact with their Gatling guns, which sounded like swarms of angry bees buzzing toward unlucky men caught out in the open.

Bricks, mortar, stucco, and wood all splintered and disappeared in a fog of destroyed walls. The planes, guns empty, dipped their wings at Ben's troops as they departed.

Through binoculars, Ben could see the few survivors who remained shouting with joy and waving their rifles in the air, as if they had somehow caused the planes to leave.

Moments later, the chup-chup could be heard as the Apaches approached, the assault helicopters with twin-mounted 40mm cannon and deadly M60 machine guns. Flying lower and slower, these choppers were able to target smaller groups of hostiles, blowing them apart as they flew sideways down narrow streets and alleyways.

Suddenly, one of the Apaches, evidently hit in the tail rotor by small arms fire, belched smoke from its engine and began to auto-rotate down to a bumpy landing.

Ben's knuckles turned white on his binoculars as he watched his ship go down.

Immediately, two other ships took up station on either side of the fallen bird, hovering low off the ground, giving massive supportive fire until the pilots and gunners could escape the wounded chopper and climb on board the others.

Ben let out breath he hadn't been aware he was holding as he saw his men make it safely out of the hot zone and into the other choppers.

After a moment, he said, "Corrie, radio the Apaches

and tell them to back off and head back to base to refuel. It's time for us to go in and clean out the trash, and I want them back in time to provide air support for the operation."

"Gotcha, Boss. You want me to bump John Michaels and have him tell the troops to move out?"

As usual, Corrie was one step of ahead of Ben. It continually amazed him how she seemed to anticipate his every thought.

Ben turned to address his team. "Yes, and tell him to take care. It's going to get sticky. There're bound to be pockets of resistance that the gunships missed." Ben took a deep breath. "Okay, guys and gals, let's mount up and go kick some ass."

As his team members grinned and started for the stairs he added, "I also want you all to be wearing the new, lightweight kevlar vests we got in last week. I notice most of them are still in their plastic pouches."

"Aw, Boss," Cooper moaned. "Those things are hot. They make my skin itch, and chafe my armpits."

"Yeah," Jersey added, "and they squash my-"

Ben held up his hands, his expression serious. "That's enough, soldiers. That wasn't a request, if you get my drift. It was an order, and I expect it to be obeyed. I'll cut you some slack and let you not wear them when we're not in actual combat, but for this type of mission where we're going door-to-door and we know we're going to come under fire, I want those vests on. Com-prende?"

The team members nodded and walked toward the wagon, their heads hanging like children being forced back to the table to eat their vegetables. Ben shook his head, smiling at their backs.

He had pulled a lot of strings to get as many of the new vests as he could, and had more on order. He felt

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they were the coming thing in wartime technology. Amazingly lightweight, the vests could be worn under uniform shirts and were hardly noticeable. Their attraction was they would stop anything up to a 9mm bullet, and most shrapnel would be rendered non-lethal. He hoped to soon have enough for all of his troops. Currently only squad commanders and officers were fully equipped, with the first issues going to his scouting teams, who saw the most intense combat of any of the troops.

As Ben and his team stood next to the wagon putting on their vests, Anna said, "General Ben, I don't feel right using this vest when all the troops don't have them."

Ben cocked an eyebrow at her. "Oh? Why not?"

"I was reading in the old Declaration of Independence of the United States where it said all men are created equal, so why do some of us get to use the vests, and others not?"

Ben shook his head. "I thought you understood history better than that, Anna. First of all, the phrase 'all men are created equal' meant that under the law of the new country all persons would be treated equally, with none having preferential treatment. It certainly did not mean all people were born with equal abilities or chances, as the whiny, liberal crybabies used to try to say. Hell, anyone who has ever taught school or been a leader of any kind knows people are all different, with varying degrees of competence at different tasks. Now, as to why some of the troops, notably squad leaders and officers, get the vests and the so-called grunts do not, it's because no matter how much each person is worth as an individual certain members of an army, are much more valuable to the war effort than others, especially during wartime. Personally, I hate to see any of our boys

or girls die, but I have to be honest with you. There are some I'd rather lose than others. Do you understand?"

She nodded, staring at the ground as she zipped her vest up.

He smiled and patted her on the shoulder. "I know you do, but it was a good try, anyway, even though it didn't get you out of wearing the vest."

Cooper and Jersey and Beth laughed. Cooper said, "I was trying my best to think of some reason not to wear this damned thing, but leave it to Anna to come with the excuse that if everyone doesn't have one no one should."

Ben narrowed his eyes at the group. "Yeah, we're gonna have to watch her, all right. She's sounding more like a Democrat all the time. Next she'll want to share our rations with the enemy, since it's obviously poverty caused by our success that's making them so hostile."

She punched Ben on the arm hard enough to spin him half around. "I am not a Democrat or a liberal, Daddy Ben! You take that back, or I'll bash you even if you are my father."

Ben held up his hands, laughing. "OK, OK. I apologize for calling you such dirty names. Now, can we get going before the war is over and we've missed it?"

Ben glanced at the sky. "We only have about three more hours of daylight, and I don't want us crawling through rubble when it's dark, so I figure the rest of today and tomorrow. We should be able to start moving south again by day after tomorrow."

Anna scolded her, "Don't rush him, Jersey. This is the only part of the trip I like, the combat part. The traveling is boring."

"She doesn't sound much like a tree-hugging liberal now, Boss," Beth said. "More like a warmongering radical, as the left-wingers used to say."

"That's my girl," Ben said, throwing his arm around Anna's shoulders and giving her a hug. "Radical, and proud of it!"

Ben was off in his prediction of the time it would take to cleanse the town of hostiles. It was more like two-and-a-half days. There were more pockets of resistance than he had expected, and the Rebel Army's losses were slightly higher than anticipated.

By the time he and John Michaels met on the southern city limits, Ben's mood was even worse than before the battle for Pointe-Noire. "I'm really getting tired of this country, John."

Michaels nodded, looking around at the ruined and leveled city behind them and at the dozers making huge depressions in the red dirt of the area for the bodies of those they had killed. "Me too, Ben. Bottger has a lot to answer for. We lost some good men and women to this trash that he paid to detain us."

Ben clenched his teeth. "Oh, he'll pay, all right, John. I'll promise you that, even if I have to chase him all over the world. From this moment on, he's mine!"

John knelt in the dirt and unfolded a map of the country and laid it on the ground in front of them. He pointed a finger at the left side of the paper. "Here we are at Pointe-Noire, the southernmost city in the Congo. It's about a hundred klicks due south until we get to the Congo River on the border of Angola." He looked up at Ben. "That hundred klicks is through Cabinda, which has some of the thickest tropical rain forest in the entire country."

Ben nodded. "Yes. It's going to be a logistical nightmare to get our heavy equipment through that area. What do you suggest?"

"We can't head to the east over into Zaire, 'cause we'd be bunching up with Ike and his 502 Battalion. I think we ought to send most of the heavy tanks and dozers and a good portion of the troops by boat down the coast, to where the Congo empties into the Atlantic at the town of Soyo. From there, most of Angola consists of a plateau elevated three to five thousand feet above sea level, rising from a narrow coastal strip, until you get to the desert in the south. It should be pretty easy going for our heavy stuff."

"You're right, John. As thick as that jungle is, there's no need to wear out our troops trying to cross it." Ben hesitated a moment, rubbing his chin. "I'll take four or five squads, loaded light so we can make good time, and we'll traverse the area from here down to Soyo."

John objected. "Wait a minute, Ben. I figured I'd do the dirty work and go through the jungle, and let you take a break on the ship."

Ben shook his head. "No I'll take my people, and we'll make sure the jungle isn't hiding any Bottger secrets."

"How long do you figure it'll take you to traverse the hundred klicks?"

Ben shrugged. "Depends on how thick the forest is, how much resistance we face, and how many rivers we have to cross. Ordinarily, we can cover thirty klicks a day, on foot. I figure we'll be lucky to average ten in this hellhole."

Michaels nodded. "Okay, I'll bivouac the men here for four days while we load the ships, and then it'll take us four days on the water to get to the Congo."

He stood and held out his hand. "I'll meet you at Soyo in ten days, partner, and if you're not there by then I'll come looking."

Ben took his hand. "Keep in touch, pal. I'm counting on you to send in the war birds if and when I need

William W. Johnstone

them. I'll bump you on the regular channel using the Beta filter transmission if we need air support. Otherwise, give the troops a rest. I have a feeling Angola is going to be a hot spot, and they're gonna need to be sharp."

"OK Ben. See ya soon."

Ben walked back to his team and stood in front of them. "You guys had better turn in early tonight. At first light we're taking off for a hundred klick jaunt through the rain forest."

"Great," Cooper said, a sour expression on his face. "Just what I need, a trip through dense jungle filled with all manner of snakes, spiders, and other critters whose only goal in life is to sink their fangs into my hide."

Jersey glanced at him. "Don't worry, Coop. You'll have three girls to protect you from the big, bad, animals. We'll make sure nothing hurts you."

He smirked. "That'll be the day!"

Ben walked toward a nearby partially destroyed house. "I'm bunking in here tonight. I'd suggest you all join me. It'll probably be our last night to sleep under a roof for a couple of weeks."

That night, visions haunted Jersey's sleep. She tossed and turned, sweating as she moaned and groaned. She saw Cooper lying on the ground, covered with snakes, screaming. She tried to run to him, but she was waist-deep in water, and waves were breaking over her head. The harder she struggled, the farther she got from Cooper.

She could hear Ben calling in the distance, "Jersey, where are you? Jersey, answer me!"

She tried to call out for help, but when she opened

her mouth nothing came out. She was mute, and couldn't make a sound.

Suddenly, she was standing next to Cooper and two large, black men-whose faces were covered with scars and whose heads were covered with leopard skins-began shooting automatic weapons at them.

The last vision she had before her screams woke her up was of her and Cooper reeling under the impact of hundreds of bullets.

Jersey jerked upright in bed, to find Beth holding her shoulders. "Jersey, are you all right? You were crying, and then you began to scream."

When she tried to speak, she croaked. Finally, she was able to whisper. "It's OK, Beth, I just had a bad dream."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, thanks. Go on back to sleep."

"OK."

After Beth turned over and lay back in her sleeping bag, Jersey sat there for a moment, staring into the dark. Her visions had never been wrong before. Were she and Cooper going to die in the jungle?

81 Nine

Ben and his people had made better time than he thought they would. Dusk was falling on the tropical rain forest of Cabinda, and they had already covered fifteen klicks through the dense jungle. Though the tops of the trees were so thickly interwoven that they formed a solid roof through which even sunlight could barely penetrate, the vegetation at ground level was less thick, and for the most part fairly passable.

They had seen no signs of habitation by hostile forces, and were beginning to relax.

"This is going to be a cakewalk," Cooper said, a smug expression on his face.

"What do you mean?" Ben asked from the front of the column.

Cooper spread his arms. "Just look at these trails. I had no idea the rain forest would have this many trails going through it. Hell, I thought we'd be slashing our way through thick jungle vines and stuff with machetes, like on the old Tarzan movies."

He was right. They had all been amazed to see how the trails ran through the thick undergrowth, spiraling off in all directions, making their trek much easier than anticipated.

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm even

more surprised that we've seen no sign of any of Bottger's allies."

"Maybe he thought we'd just skip this area and head straight for Angola, where our Intelligence has shown he has a high concentration of his New World troops," Beth observed from back in the group.

"That very well could be," Ben agreed.

Jersey cast an eye toward Cooper, who was walking up ahead with a jaunty air about him. "I think Coop is more relieved that we haven't seen much indigenous wildlife than he is by the absence of hostile forces," she said, referring to Cooper's well-known aversion to wild critters of any kind, especially snakes or spiders.

"You got that right, Jersey," Cooper answered. "And I'm not ashamed to admit it, either. I have absolutely no use for anything that has no legs, or more than two."

As he finished speaking a rolling peal of thunder and a brilliant flash of lightning lit up the late afternoon sky. Suddenly the heavens opened, and the heaviest rainfall any of the group had ever seen began to fall.

As they scrambled to get their ponchos out of their packs, Ben yelled over the roar of the falling rain, "See, Coop, you should never tempt the gods by saying how easy things are. It just gives them a reason to crap on you with something unexpected."

Cooper looked up, unable to see Ben through the rain even though he was only five feet away. "You're right, Boss. Next time I open my big mouth, feel free to stick a boot in it."

Jersey piped up, "Does that offer hold for the rest of us, too?"

"In your dreams, girl, in your dreams," Cooper added.

"Mount up, team. Let's try to get another klick in

before full dark. Then we'll make camp, if we can find some trees heavy enough to block off the rain."

They had traveled only another hundred yards when they came to a small stream swollen by the sudden downpour into a raging river, complete with white caps from the driving winds.

Anna punched Cooper in the shoulder. "Boy, Coop, when you jinx us, you really do it good."

Ben turned to Corrie. "If you can keep your radio dry, try to bump the other squads and tell them to go on and make camp now. It doesn't look like we're going any farther until this rain stops and this river slows down a bit."

"Right, Boss. Beth, come over here and hold your poncho over me, and I'll get on the horn right away."

For security reasons Ben had the four platoons accompanying him spread over a kilometer or more so that any ambush wouldn't be able to catch them all at the same time. His own contingent of roughly a hundred soldiers was behind them in die jungle, out of sight in the pouring rain, with his Acting XO, John Watson, bringing up the rear of his column.

Jersey walked over to stand next to Cooper, who was standing on the river's edge, watching the fast-flowing current.

"Care to go for a swim, Coop?" she asked, playfully giving him a little shove toward the water.

He stepped back to avoid her, tripped over a log in the knee-high grass, and fell onto his back in the mud.

"Damn it, Jersey," he snapped. "Look what you've done. Now I'm all wet."

She threw back her head and laughed out loud. "You've been all wet ever since I've known you, Coop."

Suddenly, he screamed and began to roll and thrash about in the weeds. After a moment he jumped to his

William W. Johnstone

feet, his arms spread out, hollering in terror and looking at his chest. A six-foot long Gabon viper was hanging down his front, its fangs imbedded in his poncho, writhing and coiling in anger.

"Holy shit!" Jersey cried.

She whipped out her combat knife, and with one quick slash severed the head from the snake's body, allowing the lower five feet of the reptile to fall squirming to the ground.

"Get it off! Get it off!" Copper yelled, unwilling to touch the vicious looking head that was still attached to his poncho.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Coop, get a grip," Jersey said as she stepped up and plucked the viper's head off him. Being careful not to touch its fangs, which were dripping with venom, she cast it into the rushing stream, where it was rapidly swept away.

Cooper leaned over, his hands on his knees, breathing rapidly, gasping for breath, as he hyperventilated in fear.

Jersey, feeling sorry for what had happened, walked over to stand next to him, nudging his thigh with her boot to get his attention.

"I'm sorry, Coop. I didn't mean for that to happen. I was just joking with you."

Still unable to speak, Cooper merely nodded.

Jersey's eyes glazed over for a moment, remembering her dream of the night before where she had seen Cooper covered in snakes. Was the dream a premonition, brought to her by her Apache ancestors, as had so often happened in the past? Was the rest of it going to come true, too?

Suddenly apprehensive, she swung her CAR around to hold it at port arms. "Boss," she called, "listen up. I've got a bad feeling about this place."

Ben looked up from where he was erecting a small pup tent under the overhanging limbs of a giant tree. He had learned over the years to trust his team members' instincts. Without hesitating he reached for his M-14 Thunder Lizard and called, "Heads up, people."

The team members, well-trained to act on orders without hesitation, scrambled to find cover, readying their weapons as they dove behind trees and bushes.

Just as Cooper straightened up, grabbing his SAW, Jersey saw two black men wearing leopard skins on their heads step from cover twenty feet away.

She swung her CAR around, but before she could pull the trigger the two men opened fire with AK47s.

The deep, guttural roar of the rifles on full automatic drowned out the sound of the rain as bullets stitched across Cooper and Jersey's bodies, spinning them around and throwing them into the river. They were immediately swept out of sight by the current.

Ben, Beth, and Corrie opened up with their weapons, blowing the two hostiles into pieces as they were cut down in seconds. From the bushes and foliage surrounding the campsite, Ben's remaining team began to come under murderous fire.

Without being told, Corrie got on the horn. "The eagle is under heavy fire. Watch your asses, there may be more out there!"

Dropping her radio, Corrie thumbed the safety off her CAR and began to return fire, sweeping the bushes around them with deadly accuracy, grinning through tight lips as several bodies fell from cover to lie writhing and dying on the ground.

The semi-darkness was lit with flickering flashes from the weapons as the sound of the rain was buried under loud explosions of M-16s and the louder, deeper roar of Ben's Thunder Lizard.

When his first magazine was empty Ben rolled to his side, next to his pack, spilled out several white phosphorus grenades. He jerked the pins on three of them at once and lobbed them in different directions.

The grenades exploded with tremendous impact, lighting up the entire area with blue-white light and setting even the raindrenched jungle around them on fire.

Six men who had been near the grenades stood up, screaming, their clothes, hair, and even their skins on fire from the deadly, clinging, white phosphorus.

As the team cut them down the other hostiles in the area began to retreat, not having expected such vicious response to their trap.

As dark shapes could be seen running away, a phosphorus flare exploded in the sky, illuminating the entire area with daylike brightness.

John Watson-taking John Michaels' place while he brought the boats down the coast-and reinforcements, could be seen surrounding the fleeing assassins. They cut them down as soon as they showed themselves.

In minutes, it was over. Ben's platoon had lost seven men, while the attackers had been wiped out to the last person. Since Ben had ordered no prisoners were to be taken, several of Michaels's troops walked through the area, dispatching any wounded hostiles without a second thought. Single gunshots could occasionally be heard in the distance.

Watson came over to approach Ben, who was standing at the river's edge, shining a light along the shore.

"You OK, Ben?"

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8: DANGER IN THE ASHES

Triumph in the Ashes